Build Me Up Read Free

was indeed private. There was no path running along the beach, so if she wanted to get to the neighbor’s house, she’d either have to climb a jagged rock or swim. Or, well, at the very least wade.
    Of course, she wasn’t counting on spending too much time in her room, or on the beach, for that matter. She had a meeting scheduled with Quinlan Bankhead the next morning for 7 am , and from that moment on, she’d be at his beck and call for the following year. She decided she would spend the afternoon getting acquainted with the town and maybe have dinner at one of the restaurants in the harbor.
     
    After a shower and the unpacking of all her clothes, Kristen headed out. She’d gone for casual wear – jeans, a cowl-neck top and sandals. At 5’7”, she could afford to skip the heels from time to time, and today her feet were insisting she do just that.
    She followed the little gravel path to where the cab had dropped her off, and then walked along the paved road towards the harbor, which she could see from where she was. The road inclined slightly and then started to decline, sloping down towards what appeared to be the town center.
    She could see gated properties as she walked, and assumed this was where the so-called crème de la crème lived. The town of Greenport had been described as a small but affluent town on every website she could find. So far, she’d only encountered the small part of that description. She would have to assume that affluence hid behind gates and walls here, as it so often did.
    She could see houses up in the hills, and figured the view from up there must be spectacular. It was surprising to her, though, that Mrs. Breezer was sitting on an ocean-side property with a dilapidating house and business. Had people tried to buy her out and she’d refused? Or did the rocks encasing the house make the property tough to sell, even with its location?
    There weren’t a lot of cars out, she noted. Maybe people were still at the beach, or out on the pier. Or maybe this was just the kind of place where people preferred to bike or walk. Just as she was thinking that, though, a pick-up truck came thundering down the slope. She turned her head just in time to jump aside and not get run over. She threw up her hands and yelled, but the driver seemed oblivious to her outrage. Jerks. They were everywhere.
     
    FORD HAMM glanced in his rearview mirror. The woman was flailing her arms and jumping up and down, and was that a finger ? Blasted tourists, walking in the middle of the street as if they owned the place. Even worse, they just kept coming. Like locust, invading and pillaging until nothing remained but barren land.
    Ford had seen an increase in the influx in the last couple of years, and every year, it grated more and more on his nerves. If only they’d stopped at visiting, enjoying the scenery and boosting the local economy, that would have been fine. But they hadn’t. They’d started building houses for themselves, and restaurants and – shudder – water sport rentals. Rich people had made Greenport their playpen, and locals like him were nothing but local wildlife.
    Sure, he’d taken business from the rich. A single contractor in a town populated by mere hundreds, he didn’t get to be picky about his work. At least the town statutes were good for something – any construction work within the town limits had to be performed – or at the very least consulted on – by a licensed heritage contractor. He wasn’t sure such a thing existed outside of Greenport, but the Greenport Historical Society carried a lot of weight around – and he wasn’t just talking about hefty Hetty Port. It was the town’s way of sticking it to the tourists, and he was happy to play his part.
    Only, sometimes he wished he wasn’t the only licensed heritage contractor around. Sharing the workload would have been nice, and of course, if there was another contractor in Greenport, he wouldn’t have to take on crazy ass